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Tuesday, April 9

Thoughts on Winter(an Over-The-Top Essay)

It is too cold this morning. I shuffle through an eerily
quiet house, wearing my husbands socks and two cardigans, a scarf round my
neck. I feel old.
The combination of my painful joints, hobbling gait and mismatched
layers of clothing do nothing to ease that feeling. I cannot shake the odd
sensation of dejavu. I watch my stinging
fingers fumble at the coffee machine as if from a distance. I have been cold
before. This is that same coldness, played over again in a mirthless
merry-go-round of seasons.

We have not had good winters, my heart and I. Blame my
childhood of sunshine on a tropical island, but I don’t know if I will ever
really get used to that chill of wind, the dark short days, the biting
pain. Or maybe it is only since I had
children, the crying red-cheeked children with their endless ear infections and
sore throats, and the depression which plagued me throughout. Maybe I should blame That One Winter in
particular. You know the one. The black black winter. When I open the boxes of
carefully folded coats, jackets and scarves, the smell of cold floats off them,
the invisible ghosts of winters past floating across the cold wooden floor
towards me.

Perhaps you think I’m being melodramatic, and you would be
right. But for me, winter really is melodramatic. All of my memories surge
forward, rushing over any rational part of my brain, pushing into my
consciousness. All of the ghosts of past depression clamour, rattling and
shaking their chains like any decent Marley brother. I can feel it all again,
all of those feelings, all of the pain. It is in the cold air that catches at
my throat, and in the cold water that stings my swollen red knuckles. I wish I
had the strength and energy to fight it.
I wish I had the willpower. I wish that I wanted
to fight it… but then that’s the problem with mental illness isn’t it? The very
thing that can save you from yourself is the part that’s broken.

Today I caught myself staring at Frida Rose, wondering who
she was. She became, just for a second, that child of no one, child of my
depression. She refused her bottle, refused to be comforted or cuddled, her
sobbing cries breaking the eerie stillness. And I held her loosely on my lap,
and watched, detached, as she flailed and squawked. For just that second she became
Maddy-as-a-baby, Lewis-as-a-baby, any baby from the past – my moorings to the
present were loose and I floated, in the room, and wondered who she was. I
wondered idly what to do with her, as if she was a friend’s child that I was
babysitting for a couple of hours. I wondered how many hours it would be until her
father came home and relieved me of my duties.
My dispassionate gaze faltered and then flicked off, and I was left
trembling and clutching my baby, wishing the evil spirits away.

Later I stare out the kitchen window, my unseeing eyes
staring out of a thousand cold kitchen windows, every house that we have ever
lived in, all distinctions blurring… Everything I love about this house, so
much better than any other home we have made, fades and flickers at the edge of
my gaze. It is simply Everyhouse. The cold tiles on the floor the same, the
ragged cobwebs in the corners identical… I have lived in this house forever, I
have been caught in this winter forever… Although it is mere days since the
glorious seemingly endless summer, I cannot remember what that sunshine was
like. My mind tries to recall it, but lazily the memory slips away, like warm
water through my fingers. The empty space within slowly chills.

I try to finish what I am typing on this keyboard, to come
up with some pithy ending but my fingers keep hovering, my mind wandering.
Nothing comes out, the trickle of thought and passion dries up. Nothing left, but cold.

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Well hello there and welcome to my little corner of the internet! This is where I blog about everything I am passionate about. This includes my darling children, my left-leaning politics, my love for all things beautifully designed, and my general craftiness... expect a few caffeine-fueled rants and pictures of cute things. Put the kettle on and make yourself at home!